I'm Not Ready
by fananicfan
Summary: Another one of my stories originally written for another site.  The challenge this time was to tell a story from the prespective of a Rabb child.  See the note at the beginning of this story for the complete instructions we were given to follow.


Originally this story was written for the anniversary challenge on the voy Harmy Board Extras (HBX) site.

The challenge was to write a one-shot story told from 'the next generation of Rabb's'. It was up to the writer to decide if Harm married Mac or if they ever had children, by whatever means, or if Harm married someone else and had children with them, or if Mattie turned out to be his only child. The other two guidelines were that you couldn't change what happened in the series, so the story had to take into account everything that happened up to and including the finale, and the story had to take place in the year 2025, the 20th anniversary year of the final episode. This is what I came up with:

**I'M NOT READY**

**by fananicfan**

A SUNDAY IN SUMMER IN THE YEAR 2025

There was no screech of tires, no honking horn, no warning at all before the car crossed over the double yellow lines and hit the bicycle that was traveling a few yards in front of me.

DAD!" I yell in a panic as the bike that my father is riding is pushed out of the bike lane by the car's fender.

I'm not the calm, clear-headed man who has the ambition to become a doctor. No, at this moment, I'm a boy who's afraid that his father is seriously hurt, and I'm not ready for him to leave me.

The accident happened in the blink of an eye, but now that the car and my father have come to a stop, things have started to play out in front of me as if they're happening in slow motion.

Thinking that I need to get to my father, I leap from my bike, letting it fall to the ground without regard for the damage that it might cause to the expensive piece of equipment.

As I run towards the front of the car where I believe that I'll find my father, I hear the car's onboard computer speaking.

"Impact with object caused minor damage to the passenger front fender. Estimate of repair, one thousand eight hundred dollars. I've noted time and location of damage. Do you need police or paramedics to respond?"

Looking towards my father who's lying on the ground in the dirt at the side of the road a few feet in front of the car and not moving, I tell the driver…or the car, I'm not sure which, "We've got a bicyclist down! Summon both the police and paramedics!" Then I move closer to my father to get a better look.

Nicholas Rabb, Nick to his family and friends, didn't hear the computer respond, "Police and paramedics in route."

"Dad! Dad!" I yell, trying to get a response from my father as I scan his tall form that's sprawled out on the ground, looking for visible injuries.

Seeing blood on my father's left shin and right knee, along with several places on his face, I drop to my knees next to him and place my shaking hand on his chest.

Relieved by the feel of the gentle rise and fall of shallow breaths, I ask, "Dad, can you hear me?"

I get no response from my question.

My focus has been on my father, so I don't know if the people who've begun to gather around us were on bikes riding behind us, trying to do their part to raise money for our cause, too, or if they're motorists who stopped to see if they could help.

"Dad, do you think that anything's broken? Can you tell me where it hurts?" I ask, my voice cracking with emotion - fear.

I don't really care what he says as long as he says something. What I wouldn't give to hear one of his "when I was your age stories" right now. I need to hear his voice. There's always been something so calming about his voice.

Whether he was singing me a lullaby when I was a baby, as I've seen him do in home movies – Mom seems to have an endless supply of my youth on DVD – reading to me before I'd go to sleep, giving me a pep talk from the sidelines at a little league game or giving me instructions on how to properly tie my necktie as he helped me to get ready for my very first date, there's always been something soothing about my father's voice.

Even the time when I got into a fight, and he was lecturing me that talking was always the better way to go, and, though there might be a time to fight, it was always the choice of last resort, my father's voice was firm and serious, but the love was there, too, and I could hear it.

No matter if my behavior had been less than stellar and my performance on the field had cost my team the game or I'd earned a bad grade, I knew that anything that my father said was from a place of concern and love for me, and I knew from a very early age that I was his son and that he loved me. I don't know how he could make me hear that love in his voice whether he was scolding or praising me, but he could, and I've grown up wanting to make him proud of me and to be a man like him.

Finally, I hear the sirens approaching.

"Dad, I'm not ready for you to leave me, so I need for you to hang in there. Help is on the way. "

ER WAITING ROOM

BALBOA MEDICAL CENTER

SAN DIEGO, CA

"Nick..." I jump to my feet at the sound of the familiar voice. "...have you heard anything?" Mattie's voice was steady, and the hint of concern would be hidden to everyone except, Mom, Dad, my sister and me.

"Nothing yet, but we really just got here." I pause. "How did you get here so quickly?"

"I was in the area with Bill and the girls, so I didn't have to travel far. Bill dropped me off, so I can stay as long as I need to."

Mattie had met Bill in her first year at UCLA. He was a jock, but since Mattie's accident had left her with some minor physical deficiencies, complicated by a fall that she'd taken a few years later, Mattie no longer had the physical ability to do athletic things.

Mattie had dated Bill for most of that year, but when summer had come, Mattie had told him that a jock and a 'cripple' wasn't a good match and, though she'd had fun dating him, it would never work out between them, so they were done.

Mattie had been home for three weeks that summer when had Bill showed up at our front door and told Mattie that she was the one for him and that she could take as much time as she needed to figure out that what they had was special, but she wasn't just going to walk away from him without a _good_ reason. Her physical limitation, though he could see how frustrating it could be for her not to be able to play volleyball like she did in high school, _wasn't_a good reason because she was able to walk and get around well enough to keep up with him when he wasn't on the field.

After his appearance at our front door, they became a couple and married the summer after Mattie had graduated from UCLA and before she started law school. Their first little girl didn't arrive until a year after Mattie had passed the California Bar and had a position with a small law firm.

Mattie's now a senior partner at that same law firm, but it's no longer small, and their other daughter will be three in a few weeks.

"How are my nieces?"

"They're fine. They were having such a good time today that I didn't tell them that the person who I was coming to see at the hospital was their grandpa. If Dad is seriously hurt, it'll just crush them because they love him so much. I love him, too, and I'm not ready to lose him." Mattie pauses and, after dabbing her eyes with a tissue that she's dug out of her purse, she asks, "Did you call Mom or -"

A nurse approaching us causes Mattie to stop mid-question.

"Are you Nicholas Rabb?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply eagerly, hoping that she has news about my father's condition.

"I came out to tell you that he's conscious and that he isn't happy about being in the hospital. He finally consented to a scan of his skull to check for any brain injury because of his loss of consciousness _only_ when I promised to come out here and tell his son that he's fine and not to call his mother or sisters, and worry them for no reason."

"Too late, I'm already here, and Mom and my sister should be here any minute," Mattie says, informing the nurse that, this time, Dad won't be getting his way.

"He says that he's fine, but what does his doctor say?" I ask, knowing that my dad wouldn't say that he was feeling anything less than fine.

I remember when I was too young to really understand what it meant for Mom to be having a baby, and Dad had to take Mom to the hospital because she was in pain. Just before Dad left the house with Mom, Dad said, "Don't worry about your mom, Buddy. She's fine. It's just time for your little sister to make her appearance."

When Mattie fell down the stairs and was crying, I was five. I was scared that she was really hurt. My dad said, "Don't worry, Buddy. Your sister just fell down. She's awake and talking to us. She's fine."

I found out years later that, because of Mattie's previous spinal injury, Dad hadn't wanted to move her for fear that he might cause more damage or injury than the fall alone might have done, but they didn't want me to be scared, so Mom had disappeared to call 911 for an ambulance. When Mom had returned from the other room, she'd scooped me up to take me to Grandma's with the unspoken understanding between her and dad that she'd meet him at the hospital.

"The doctor hasn't completed a full evaluation yet, but I can tell you that he doesn't appear to have any broken bones. However, a cut on his shin and one on his forehead will require a few stitches. That's all I can say for sure. The doctor will talk to you once the scan and whatever other tests that he's ordered are completed."

With her message delivered, the nurse excuses herself to get back to work.

Mattie and I sit back down to wait for the nurse to return or the doctor to come out and tell us if Dad's going to be okay and if we can take him home.

We sit for the next five minutes and three seconds - thanks, Mom, for the internal clock - before I have to say something to break the silence.

"He's going to be okay. I mean, he's our dad. Nothing keeps him down, at least not for long, right?" I half inform and half ask Mattie.

"Right," she replies confidently. "Even if he's hurt, he'll bounce back. Do you remember a couple of years ago when he got the flu? The doctor had told Mom that it would be a couple of weeks before he'd feel better. Dad was back on his feet in a week."

"Yeah, I remember that. Dad said that he beat the flu so quickly because he eats right, exercises…just takes good care of himself, and because he's just Navy tough," I begin, and a smile starts to form on my face as an image comes to mind of my parents exchanging grins as they amped up a round of playful banter between them.

Mattie must be remembering the same thing, because her next comment is about what Mom said to counter Dad's statement.

"Then, because Mom hadn't come down with the flu that year, she said that he was Navy stubborn, not tough, and that, if he ate more meat and was tough like a Marine, he wouldn't have contracted the flu in the first place."

"Nick, Mattie…how's your father?" our mother asks, coming towards us at a rate that you wouldn't expect from a woman in her late fifties.

My sister and I get up to greet our mother.

"A nurse came out a little while ago and told us that he's conscious now and that he doesn't have any broken bones. He does have a couple of cuts that will require stitches, but they haven't finished assessing him for any head trauma, yet."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. Your father's skull is as thick as they come, so I'm sure that he's fine," Mom says as she hugs me and then Mattie.

After releasing her embrace on Mattie, she looks at me. "You said on the phone that a car came into the bike lane and hit your father while he was riding a few feet in front of you. Are you okay, Nick?" Mom asks, but she's already looking me over, searching for cuts, bruises, torn clothing…anything that would give her any clue that I was withholding news that I'd been hit or injured, too.

"Aside from being worried about Dad, I'm fine."

"Well, Momma's here now, so you let me do all the worrying and you just think about how you can tease your father about wrecking his bike," Mom says with a smile.

I don't know how she always stays so calm.

"Where's Emma?" I ask.

"The ER lot was full, so she's parking the car in the main lot for me so that I could come in here and check on you and your father."

"How did she take the news about Dad's accident?" I ask.

"You know your sister. She may look like me, but she's your father's daughter. She's focusing on tasks like getting to the hospital and parking the car. She isn't thinking about why we had to come here."

"I suppose that line of thinking will serve her well when she starts at the Naval Academy in the fall," Mattie says.

"I suppose, but I'm glad that Nick was blessed to be more like me, even though he is a carbon copy of his father in the looks department," Mom counters.

"Not an exact copy, I'm only six-three," I point out with a sheepish smile.

Mom's mouth opens, but she doesn't have time for a comeback because Emma comes through the double doors and announces, "I had to park in the "O" lot, so I'll go down to bring the car to the ER exit when they discharge Dad."

"Emma, Dad went down pretty hard. I don't think that he'll be going home today," I inform her.

"Mister-I'm-going-to-be-a-doctor thinks that he knows everything," Emma states in that irritating little sister tone.

I may be here on my summer break before I start my second year at Harvard, but she's my sister, and the sibling quarreling is natural, though we've moved past the 'I told you so' stage.

"I don't know everything, but I was there. I saw Dad get hit, and though Dad is in excellent shape for his age, he's going to be sixty-two on his birthday in a few months, and common sense says that a man of his age who goes up against a car… He's probably going to have some injuries."

"You aren't -" Emma begins, but Mom cuts her off.

"You two need to stop. You don't want to get us kicked out of the place before we hear how your father is," Mom says with that exasperated sigh of a mother who's had enough. "Nick, you and I are going to leave the girls here and go in search of someone who can tell us something about your father."

"I'll go with you, Mom," Emma volunteers.

"Since Nick came in with your father, I'm sure that he'll recognize someone who might be able to tell us something more about your dad, so I want you to stay here and sit with Mattie until we can see him."

Mom reaches for my hand.

The child in me can't help but throw a smile over my shoulder at my little sister at being chosen to be the one to escort my mother.

Being a grown man, I feel a little silly with my mom holding my hand as we approach the receptionist's desk, but my mother's touch is comforting, and I don't try to pull my hand from hers.

"Excuse me. I'd like to see my husband. He was brought in here…" Mom looks at me, and I supply her with the elapsed time since our arrival before she continues, "His name is Harmon Rabb, Junior."

"If you'll wait here, ma'am, I'll go see what I can find out for you," the ensign replies.

A few moments later, the woman returns and says that one of us may go back to see Dad, and I know that, as much as I want to see him, my mother needs to see him more.

"Go ahead, Mom, but be prepared. He sent out a nurse earlier to tell me not to call you, so he's going to be upset with me."

"Don't worry about being on your father's bad side," my mother says with a warm, comforting smile while patting my arm. "Once I remind him of the wrath that you and he would both be facing from me if you hadn't called me, your 'slip' in his code of conduct not to worry his family will quickly be forgotten. Besides, you were doing what you thought was right, and your father is proud of you for being the way you are." She kisses my cheek. "Now, go over and tell your sisters that I'll be out to give you all a full report on Dad in a few minutes while I go back to tell him that we love him and that we're all here."

I nod in agreement before Mom releases my hand to follow the ensign back to see my dad.

I walk towards my sisters, feeling better and with another testament that my parents are the best.

Dad is the tough on the outside that makes you feel safe in his presence type. He's the one who came into our rooms when we'd have a bad dream and check under the bed and in the closets for monsters, and you knew that, if he found something, the invader and threat to his home and his children didn't stand a chance.

It wasn't that Mom couldn't have fought off any predators. She was a Marine. Even after she retired and still to this day, she kickboxes to stay in shape. So she was capable of protecting us, but, at least at home, Dad was our protector.

Mom, on the other hand, had inner strength and, with a few words or a touch, we'd find comfort. She was the one who I went to when I needed a bandage for a cut or when my girlfriend dumped me and I wanted to hear that it was her loss because I was such a great catch.

Dad was the one who I went to when I wanted to go to college far from home, and Mom's response to the news had been, "I'm not ready for you to leave home." As well as Mom knows how to keep Dad in check, he knows what to say to Mom to get her to see the bigger picture. That particular time, he told her that I wasn't her little boy anymore and that she should be proud that I was turning into a man who had goals and was willing to do what it took to achieve them, even if it meant leaving the comfort of my home. If I didn't succeed, which he highly doubted because, after all, I was a child of theirs, then he was sure that she'd be the first one I'd call if I wanted to come home.

Come to think of it, I really couldn't tell anyone about my father without talking about my mother, too. They may have their individual strengths, but they are a team.

If I'm to believe Dad's stories, they were a team long before they were married, but I do know for sure that they raised us together as a team.

I'm not ready to be married, but I want that kind of relationship with the woman I do marry.

I reach my sisters and deliver Mom's message, and the waiting starts again. However, true to her word, Mom returns to the waiting room four minutes and thirty-one seconds later to give us all a detailed report.

"He has a big bruise on one knee and a cut that required stitches on the shin of his other leg. He has bumps, bruises, scratches and scrapes on both arms, and one of his wrists is sprained. He has several scratches on his face and a cut on his forehead near his temple that required stitches. The scan of his head didn't reveal any cause for concern, so they're going to let us take him home with a few conditions."

"So, he's going to be okay?" Emma asks.

"Looks that way," Mom answers.

Before I can ask, Mattie asks the question on my mind.

"Mom, what are the conditions for his discharge?"

"After they finish wrapping his sprain, they're going to fit him with one of those new armband monitors. It'll transmit his vital signs every fifteen minutes until I bring him in on Tuesday morning to have it removed. He needs to refrain from overexerting himself, for instance by exercising, because the monitor will transmit the rise in his heart rate or blood pressure as abnormal readings, and they'll call for me to bring him in for another scan when it isn't necessary. They also don't want him to drive until they check him out and remove the monitor on Tuesday," Mom explains.

"I'm surprised that Dad agreed to their conditions," I say, thinking more out loud than anything else.

"Since his choices were to agree to their terms or stay in the hospital until Tuesday morning to be monitored, he opted to sleep in his own bed."

Knowing my dad, I think that there was a third option, checking out of the hospital against medical advice, but Mom would have told him the penalty for choosing that option. Since Dad has said on more than one occasion that he wouldn't change the fact that he retired to come to San Diego so that he could personally assist Mattie with her rehabilitation, marry Mom and never sleep alone again, my guess is that the penalty would've been that he'd have to sleep on the couch.

I smile, and I'm sure that my mother and sisters think that it's relief that my father is going to be okay, but this particular smile comes from knowing that my father loves my mother very much, and nothing, not even a possible concussion can keep them from keeping their promise to each other never to spend another night apart.

"I checked with the nurse, Nick. Only one person is allowed to be with him at a time, but you can go back to see him while we wait for his discharge order to come through."

"Thanks, Mom," I say, knowing that she's giving me the chance to see him here now because, at home, I'll have to share his attention with Mattie and Emma, and after watching him go down, I need a few minutes of one-on-one time with him.

MOMENTS LATER

DAD'S ER CUBICLE

I move through the opening in the curtain of Dad's cubicle and find him sitting slightly reclined in the hospital bed.

"How are you doing, Dad?" I ask, distracted by the nurse who's attaching the monitoring band to Dad's arm.

"I'm fine. How are you doing, Son?" he asks with one raised eyebrow.

"I was a little worried for a couple of minutes -"

"- But you're better now," Dad says, cutting me off.

"Yeah," I say with a crooked smile.

"I need to step out and activate your armband. It usually takes less than five minutes to get the first transmission, and then we'll be able to release you," the nurse says to my father before giving me a quick glance and disappearing from the room.

Alone in the room, my dad says, "I hear that you did a great job of keeping your cool, getting medical assistance to the scene and seeing to it that no one tried to move me. You're going to make a fine doctor, Nick," my dad says, his pride in me evident in his tone.

Though I've never doubted my dad's love for me or his pride in having me as his son, in this moment, having had the scare of going on with my life without him, I don't think that I've told him often enough that I love him and that I'm proud to be his son.

"I love you, Dad," I say, feeling the sting of tears forming in my eyes.

Dad opens his arms to me and, all of a sudden, I'm five and need to feel safe.

I move in close and accept his embrace.

"I love you, too, Son," he says softly as we hug.

For fear that, at nineteen, I'll be found by a cute nurse hugging another man, even if he is my father, I ease back out of my father's embrace.

"I know that you got a scare today, but I'm fine, really."

"I'm just not ready to find out what my life would be like without you." My words come out at a volume that's just above a whisper.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not ready for you to find out, either. So, thank God, it wasn't my time today. Since the two generations prior to me didn't make it home from war, I don't have an average of how long the men in my family live, but my grandmother lived to be ninety-five and my mother, your grandmother, is in her late eighties and still with us, so I'd say that I've got at least another twenty years easy, maybe more."

"At least twenty more years sounds good to me," I say with a smile. "Since I called them, I guess that I should go out and let Mattie or Emma come back to see you."

"You heard the nurse. I'm going to be here for only a few more minutes. I'm not ready to see your sisters. They'll want to fuss over me. Why don't you stay with me until they kick me loose? Then I'll let them fuss over me all they want when we get home.

"Okay," I reply, happy to have my dad to myself, if only for a few more minutes, and even happier that he's going to be okay.

"What do you want to talk about while we wait?" I ask.

"Why don't we talk about what kind of bike I'm going to get to replace the one that I lost today?"

His response is a question. My mother hates it when he does that to her.

"We should go to the bike shop tomorrow and ask them if they have a car-impact proof model," I tease.

"That would be a good selling point for your mother," he says with a laugh.

We manage to fill the next seven minutes with 'bike talk' until the nurse comes back with his discharge papers, and by the time I walk him out to the waiting room to my mother and sisters, I'm feeling better.

Maybe Dad has been taking lessons from Mom on how to comfort us.

I hope not. I'm not ready for Dad to fill-in for Mom.

THE END


End file.
